


Bath

by middlemarch



Series: Daffodil Universe [10]
Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Bathing/Washing, Cat, F/M, Gen, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary cares for someone unexpected and is offered help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath

It was after the third time the little calico, whom she had named Plum, jumped out of the wash-tub that Mary thought she had underestimated the cat. She had quickly assembled the wooden tub, a clean, worn bit of towel, a dish of soft soap they used in the kitchen and wouldn’t miss, and a little jug of milk. Plum had appeared on the veranda soon after daybreak, when Mary alone was enjoying the sweet, fresh air and the cups of the flowers filling with sunlight. She moved daintily as ever, but her fur was matted and as she stepped closer to Mary, the scent of phlox and lavender was overwhelmed by the stink of old fish. Mary had knelt down to Plum but had only touched her gently with one fingertip, hardly able to find one part of the little cat that didn’t need a good wash. She was glad Plum had found a way to fill her belly, besides the bowls of milk Mary put out when she could, but she simply couldn’t stand to see the calico so filthy.

Plum tended to visit the Mansion House veranda at daybreak and dusk. She was a clever creature and had apparently quickly discerned those were the times Mary was most likely to be about with her little treats and ready to rub between two pointed ears. Mary had not brought her any food today, so she thought she might have a chance to lure Plum back at twilight; she could generally spare a few minutes then from the wards or the officers’ mess, and she was willing to gamble that Plum would return. She would have clapped her hands with pleasure when she saw Plum sitting beside a stilled rocking chair, if they were not already filled with the tub, the towel draped over the arm, a basket holding the soap and milk on the other. She simply set the washtub on the oak floorboards and laid the basket and towel beside her, then tried to coax Plum to her with a little humming “Here, Plum, here puss.” Plum opened her eyes but didn’t move. Mary resorted to scooping up the cat in her hands and carrying her the short distance to the tub.

Was it between the first and second plaintive howl, or the third scratch to her hand as Plum tried to leap from the tub, that she realized Plum was not happy and neither was she? The sky was still light though the sun was low in the sky and she had thought this task would be completed already; she did not mean to give the cat a bath by moonlight. She sat back on her feet where she knelt and let Plum prowl about the veranda for a bit. Matron had looked, generously, dubious when Mary mentioned in passing she planned to bathe the little calico and had only said, “As you will, Nurse Baroness,” an appellation she reserved for what she consider were Mary’s outlandish efforts, like the clinic for the prostitutes or getting the piano tuned for Sunday church services. Emma had seemed charmed at first but had quickly moved to a degree of concern Mary had not imagined from her when Mary clarified the cat was a stray “Oh, but Nurse Mary, you’ll be cut to ribbons!” Mary had laughed merrily and dismissed it as the worry of a very sheltered young miss but now she was not so sure. The first scratch had been a warning from Plum, it would appear, but the second and third were intended to make Plum’s disapproval of the proceedings eminently clear. Mary was now well aware that Plum did not want to be bathed, did not want to be held, and did not want to wait for her dish of milk; Mary also had two long scratches to remind her. Both welled with blood when she withdrew her hands from the soapy water and stung mightily. She thought if she had not brought up to New Hampshire endurance and fortitude, she would simply pour out the water, fill the little dish with milk and count the task done. She took a deep breath, then made another effort to move Plum, this time by the slightly cleaner scruff of her neck, back into the tub.

She didn’t hear Jed approach over the unearthly squeal Plum was making as she soaped her matted fur. As the cat’s cry finally ended, like a ball of yarn unraveled, she heard his laughter. He was clearly entirely entertained and the more rational part of her mind agreed she must make quite a picture, sleeves rolled up, splashed all about with water, her hair falling from its neat parting to curl around her face. However, she was tired, wet, her hands hurt and she found herself put out by his chuckles, even as she appreciated lack of mockery in the tone. She exhaled and blew at the curls that clung to her forehead before she prepared to make some rejoinder.

“Why Nurse Mary, it seems I was right to come and offer my assistance,” he said. She looked up at him then and was taken aback; he wore only his trousers and a loose linen shirt with his braces. He had left his cravat, vest, and coat off and had even rolled the sleeves of the shirt to his elbows. His forearms were bare and she could also see the hollow at the base of his throat. She had seen him in even greater state of undress when he was ill with his withdrawal, but then his physical and mental distress had been a barrier between them. She had held him in her arms, but he had retched and howled, shaken with chills, sweated with fever. Now he stood before her, healthy and whole, his eyes bright in the growing dusk. She suppressed a shudder, visceral, an entirely female yearning for him that she felt was beneath them both. His wife was in California, but he was a married man. She should not be so aware of how fluidly he knelt beside her, how finely made his wrists were, how his hair curled at the nape of his neck.

“Is that what you are doing?” she retorted, seeking safety in impertinence. She had not considered his mood enough, any more than Plum’s; he was only encouraged by her remark.

“Oh yes. All I have heard all day, it seems, is Nurse Mary’s plan to bathe the little stray cat. Chaplain Hopkins spent a quarter-hour he will surely thank you for, listening to Miss Green put forth her sincere concern about you. Samuel outright suggested I check and see how you were progressing, since that is clearly the responsibility of the Executive Officer and the only physician here who has trained in both Paris and Bonn. Matron pointed out that my coat could be very shortly shredded by an angry cat though she said nothing of my vest or cravat. It seems your intervention here on the veranda is of much greater import that the fact that I successfully operated on Major Fairchild and all three of his sons today—yes, I saved John’s eye, he’s resting and Mrs. Fairchild is expected tomorrow. So what else could I do but come see how you were making out?” he finished with a flourish. She shook her head a little and smiled despite herself, as he had intended. He had not mentioned Nurse Hastings or Dr. Hale, so she thought she had possibly escaped their notice at least.

“And, I suppose you may be curious, Nurse Hastings retreated to her room several hours ago and neither has Hale been seen since. To quote Miss Hastings, ‘one does wonder,’ but truly, the least said about Hale the better. I don’t believe any of his patients died today and he did use the ether as I told him too, so the men didn’t suffer overmuch,” Jed added, reading her expressed before she could even utter words.

“Well, I’m certainly very glad to hear about the Fairchilds and I think you may hardly escape Mrs. Fairchild tomorrow; her letters suggest she may be effusive in her thanks—oh!” Mary replied, but was interrupted by the fourth scratch, this one closer to a gash, that Plum chose to inflict.

“We must finish this up, then, mustn’t we? For your little cat appears to be quite angry and you’ve been at this long enough. Why don’t you give her one last scrub with the soap, then I’ll take her in the towel,” he suggested. He’d picked up the linen towel and held it in both hands. She had a sudden vision of him holding a larger towel up to enfold her as she rose from her bath. He would not let go when he wrapped it around her, but would gently move aside the heavy, wet tangle of her hair to kiss the side of her neck, to push the towel aside to drink the water from her shoulder. His beard would feel rough against the top of her breast but his mouth would be soft and warm. She had been up too early, too late, was tired—that was the only acceptable explanation for her thoughts.

“Come now, Mary, let’s get this done,” he said, his voice even, as if he perhaps was working to keep out tenderness, affection. She did as he said, managed to swipe the soap in every cardinal direction Plum possessed, avoiding her sharp claws and giving her one final dunk which yielded one final yowl into the evening. She took the calico firmly in both hands and then quickly thrust her into the towel in Jed’s arms. As at their one previous encounter, Plum settled immediately as Jed dried her with the towel. Her fur, at least, was now clean and the stripes were variegated as an autumn leaf.

They knelt there a few minutes, Jed holding the little cat and murmuring just a bit. He stroked her drying fur with a gentle hand, but looked at Mary with his eyes very bright while he said, “What a sweet girl you are!” Then he set the cat down and she bounded after the milk jug she’d sniffed an hour before.

“Thank you, Jed. You didn’t need to,” she said, glancing at Plum happily lapping at the milk.

“Oh, I know I needn’t, but I wanted to. Now, I think you had better let me carry all this back inside for you and then we need to get some salve on those scratches. There’s some in the closet by the smaller ward, I’ll get it for you,” he said, organizing the towel and the dish in the basket, emptying the wash tub even as she stood up, a little shaky after all that time in one position.

“Careful!” he cried and reached a hand out to her. She felt the brush of his fingers against her own bare forearm, where the sleeve was rolled up and a smaller thrill, still sharply electric, went through her and she gasped and flushed. He leaned towards her swiftly and said, quite low, “What a sweet woman you are, Mary!” and then stepped back as if a return to decorum could contain what had passed between them.

“I think your cat must fend for herself for a while now,” he offered. It was a remark he made to give her a moment to collect herself and she took it with gratitude.

“Yes, I think it will be some time before I consider giving her a bath again,” Mary replied, proud at her own practical tone. She looked at Jed with his arms full of the empty washtub and thought of his hands on hers, smoothing in the salve, fragrant with comfrey and calendula. Emma had been right, she was cut to ribbons.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was in response to the "bath" prompt. I have brought back my little calico cat from an earlier story but my youngest child has now named the cat "Plum" and also likes to watch cat videos on YouTube, so this story was also prompted by her. It rapidly became a little less of the farcical drabble I had imagined and once again became a window on Jed and Mary, but also with a dash of Emmry and there should always be a moment of Matron :) Interestingly, I had meant to reference the early scene where Mary washes the old soldier's feet but it never seemed apt for this story.


End file.
